


Right Here

by Brigand_Bravado



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, BBC Sherlock - Freeform, Ficlet, Gen, M/M, POV First Person, Post Reichenbach, Short, Slash, Stream of Consciousness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-18
Updated: 2013-07-18
Packaged: 2017-12-20 13:09:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/887648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brigand_Bravado/pseuds/Brigand_Bravado
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Our dreams, the last place we can hold onto a memory and relive it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Right Here

**Author's Note:**

> Just a quick ficlet. I had scribbled a draft months ago while trying to think of a story. My thoughts were that John, having survived war and trauma, would be use to hyper realistic post traumatic stress dreams and may even become conscious enough to realize he's having them. Some people also believe lucid dreaming is possible.

Right here. I feel you right here next to me. And you’re lying on your back, arms to your sides and legs straight. I feel you but I dare not look.

The hairs on my arms goose up. Your radiating heat gives me shivers. How are you here? I don’t want to open my eyes. It’s too real, I know these sorts of dreams, the nightmares. Sometimes I become aware that I’m dreaming, like now, but even if I try to take control, I’m powerless. Bombs go off, shots ring out and bodies fall.

That’s why you can’t really be here. 

You fell.

But your body is next to me, I feel the weight. You are in my bed and unmoving. Maybe if I open my eyes I’ll be laying in your coffin next to you. Do they ever bury people who have died together in the same coffin? I sometimes thought that we would perish together, like brothers in war, and it would be just as well to throw us in the same box and eulogize us together. 

Is that too romantic? I never thought of you that way. Well, I never meant to. 

Now I really want to gain control and wake up, I don’t want to think about this, but then again, this is your last refuge. The last place you can exist, always next to me. I’m not alone.

My hand creeps across the bed sheet and I feel my fingers brush against skin. You are corporeal and whole. Weighty and solid, you have a presence.

But I know better, our minds are powerful things. We can live entire lives, replay or rewrite history. And if you concentrate hard enough, simple lies can obscure the truth. We can will ourselves false memories. Or false senses. 

You’re not here. My hand isn't touching yours. But at least in my thoughts, you are here, and I feel better for it. 

As long as I don’t open my eyes.


End file.
